


The Library

by GeorgieGirl8



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 1940s, F/M, Fluff, Library, Oneshot, WWII, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 15:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18346379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeorgieGirl8/pseuds/GeorgieGirl8
Summary: Oh hi! After the longest hiatus in the world I'm back to inflict more Bughead fluff on you all. Here's a very short, nothing-y piece of fluff set on a hot day in the 1940s in a library (because... reasons?) Please enjoy!





	The Library

Betty sighed, resting the weight of her upper body on the book truck as she rolled it around the corner and down the narrow aisle where the last few volumes would be shelved. It was July, and it was hot. It was so hot, in fact, the air in the library felt more like water in a warm pool she was forced to walk through fully clothed. Scratchy stockings whose seams were melting into wavy lines down the backs of her legs; itchy woolen skirt whose satin lining kept it smooth, but trapped the heat; white cotton blouse whose daringly short sleeves she had decided to compensate for with a “lightweight” cardigan.

She pulled open the neck of her blouse and waved the book in her hand, fan-like, craving the sensation of even the tiniest breeze across her skin. She allowed herself the briefest moment of pleasure as the air ruffled the silky camisole underneath.

_Enough, Betty. Back to work._

Pushing her glasses up on her nose and peering at the call numbers on the books standing along the shelf at eye-level, she prayed it was almost time to go home. She would check the clock on the wall above the reference desk once these three books were put away.

Suddenly, in the space where she was about to shelve a heavy, leather-bound tome, there appeared a pair of eyes – blue-green, fringed with dark lashes, and now flashing open in surprise.

“Oh! Jughead—”

“I—” the corners of his eyes relaxed, then crinkled slightly in a hesitant smile. “Hello.”

“Hello. I didn’t realize you were back here too,” she said quietly, flushing at the realization of what this intriguing, serious, reflective (and, if she were being honest, she realized, _handsome_ ) new colleague of hers might have seen a moment ago.

“Yes,” he replied, and cleared his throat. Then his eyes shifted and his whole face turned away so that only the jet-black waves of his hair, combed back over his head, were visible through the space between the books. He was reading the title on the spine of one of the books on his cart. “Poetry,” he reported. “Uh—Romantic Poetry.”

“I see,” she replied, trying to bite back the smile that pushed its way onto her lips. _How… funny._ She shook her head ever so slightly to clear her thoughts. “I’ve got—” she looked down at the title of the book in her hands and instantly regretted starting the sentence—“oh dear. Reproduction.”

There was a soft snickering sound from the other side of the shelf and she allowed herself to meet his gaze, to smile at him, only for a second. His eyebrows lifted and he whispered to her: “it’s way too hot. Let’s finish up here and go sit by the fan in the head librarian’s office. What do you say?”

_Yes. God, yes._

But—wait. What was going on? Had the heat gotten to both of them, had it boiled their brains? He’d never said more than two words to her in the three weeks they’d worked together, and one of those was a terse “evening” he’d toss in her direction on his way out the door every afternoon, hat in hand, coat over his arm. Why so talkative now? And sitting in the head librarian’s office? She was home sick for the day, but what a risk! Were they _nuts_?

“Okay,” she heard herself say softly. He smiled and turned back to his work.

 ---

A moment later she was poised on the edge of one of two chairs in front of the head librarian’s desk, eyes closed, feeling the cool air bathe her face and neck. She turned her head from side to side, exposing as much of her skin as was relatively decent to the fan’s ministrations.

“Betty,” she heard him say from the doorway, and startled, twisting in her seat.

“Jughead!” He was carrying two glasses of iced tea.

“Sorry to sneak up on you,” he said.

“Getting to be a habit with you,” she said, trying on the idea of gently teasing him. He smiled and handed her a glass.

“This is really cold,” she said. “There’s ice in it, too! Where did you—”

“I ran across to the diner,” he explained, pulling his bowtie away from his neck delicately with a finger and sitting in the other chair.

“This is nice,” she breathed between long, appreciative gulps of the drink.

They sat in silence, sipping tea and letting the fan blow their carefully-combed hair around.

“So,” she said, half-turning toward him, starting a conversation out of a combination of discomfort and genuine curiosity. “What brought you to Riverdale?”

“Hm?” He seemed to have been lost in thought. “Oh. My grandmother lives here,” he began, his expression guarded. “My grandfather died years ago and my cousins had been helping her out, but what with the war and so on—”

She nodded. She got it.

Then, answering the question he knew would follow, whether she articulated it or not, “I was studying divinity at the time,” he added softly, “so I didn’t go into the service. But—”

“Jughead,” she said, leaning in and putting a hand on his arm, “it’s alright, you don’t have to—”

“But I dropped out. Or rather I switched into the library program. I couldn’t—my cousins, all of them, they—” the tiniest quiver disturbed his lower lip. If she hadn’t been sitting so close, she wouldn’t have seen it. “It stopped making any sense. I just wish—”

“Jughead, I know. I know. We all do.” She touched his hand.

Then, his brow relaxing in what she could tell was a deliberate attempt to shift the mood, he looked at her and smiled. She held the aquamarine of his eyes in her own and he opened his mouth to say something – probably an attempt at being glib – but closed it again.

“Hot in here, huh?” she noted, redundantly, unable to look away.

“It is, a little,” he replied, putting a hand over hers where it sat on his arm. A jolt of electricity moved through her body, sending her heart beating wildly through the thin cotton of her blouse. “I think it’s gotten to me today.”

“Me, too.”

Without allowing herself the time to second-guess, she squeezed his hand, her breath shallow and ragged as her eyes roamed over the lines of his face; his dark hair, pushed back but falling forward; his mouth, strong and soft and—

And on hers, all of a sudden.

Soft, yes. And strong. Exactly how she would have imagined it. Not that she had… _very_ often.

Then his hands were on her face, in her hair, pulling the ribbon out of her ponytail. She moaned softly through her nose, cool air from the fan mixing with the warmth of his breath and the humidity of the library.

His lips tasted sweet, still tasted of iced tea.

A door somewhere in the library slammed and the windows in the office shuddered.

He pulled back and they looked at each other in a kind of mild disbelief, like maybe the events of the preceding ten minutes had been nothing more than a mirage, the shimmer of hot air hovering over a sun-baked highway, always moving further away the further you drive.

“Thank you,” she said. “For the tea, I mean.”

He smiled. “Anytime.”


End file.
